


Blessing in Disguise

by mandilorian



Series: Pulling a fast one [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, M/M, No Angst, nice people being nice to each other, tropey romcom fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandilorian/pseuds/mandilorian
Summary: Eponine Thenardier had sworn off love. She had tried it once and found the experience as pleasant as eating jellied eels, thank you very much. Now it’s her best friend, Grantaire’s turn to fall hard for a perfect match, Enjolras. Pity Grantaire was too stubborn to admit or do anything about it. It was up to Eponine to feign her attraction to Enjolras’ secretary, Combeferre, just to provide Grantaire with an excuse to gaze adoringly at the object of his affection. It would have been tiresome, except that Combeferre was a surprisingly good company. He was honest, intelligent, charming, and not to mention incredibly handsome.Oh.Oh no.
Relationships: Combeferre/Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Pulling a fast one [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013178
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Blessing in Disguise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceAnnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceAnnie/gifts).



> Thank you for the lovely request.
> 
> And for all of us who know that progress will be slow and hard won, but now we have a fighting chance. Liberté, Egalité, Gritté y'all.

The road to a factory visit in Yorkshire was paved with good intentions, Eponine thought as she gritted her teeth and smiled brightly at Mr. Enjolras. The whole plan was for Eponine to seduce the American industrialist, take his money, then run off with her co-conspirator, Grantaire. They wanted to start a new life far away from London, get her brother and sister out from under her father’s roof, and perhaps save a few parentless children along the way. Simple dreams, really, if one was not currently swindling one’s way through London’s society. 

Mr. Enjolras, for his part, offered no inclination to be seduced whatsoever. He was distant and determined. He talked of nothing but the betterment of society. And he couldn’t seem to be able to stop arguing with Grantaire. This particularly dry match about Rousseau vs. Locke and the social contract began as soon as the carriage left their front door. Eponine pinched the bridge of her nose, disguising it as a dap of a kerchief on her forehead and heard a soft chuckle.

Right, a Mr. Combeferre was there too.

Combeferre had been introduced formally as Enjolras’ secretary, but both men were as at ease with one another as Eponine and Grantaire were. Combeferre’d explained that they grew up together, with Combeferre the elder being the Enjolras’ longtime business manager. It was expected that Combeferre would work for Enjolras as well. That was true to a certain extent, but Combeferre had enough money to invest in Enjolras’ ventures here and there and over time, their working relationship became more of a partnership than anything else. 

Eponine could see that. While it’s clear that Enjolras was a leader by nature, Combeferre was more reassuring. He spoke in a clear, firm voice and moved around carefully, sure of himself but not intimidating. She wondered how much that bearing had to do with making sure he never stood out too much with his already unusual look. He was striking, if Eponine was completely honest. He was much taller than the average English man, his skin darker, and face dotted with freckles. He had an angular, well-defined jaw and his eyes shone with fierce intellect. Combeferre was a man of few words, but he picked his words carefully. While Enjolras proclaimed and Grantaire rambled, Combeferre stated. He had been calm and tactful the previous night, which had an instant effect on setting everyone at ease. 

Eponine was immediately wary of him. If anyone would see through her ruse, it would be Combeferre.

And now he was smiling indulgently at her.

“You must forgive Mr.Enjolras. He can get rather...passionate.”

Eponine nearly let out a very unladylike snort. “Passionate” was the understatement of the century. Enjolras was basically vibrating in his seat in an effort to sway Grantaire to his side of the argument. She could feel a sense of dread looming all over. So wrapped up was Enjolras in Grantaire that anything short of a second coming could not pull his attention. Eponine doubted he would notice if she got up and jumped out of the carriage right then.

“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Combeferre, my brother can handle himself.” Eponine turned to him fully, she might as well make the most of this journey and find out more information about the two Americans. “What about you, sir, are you not interested in the integrity of social contact?”

So she was listening, Combeferre thought. He wasn’t sure what to make of the Grantaire siblings from last night. While her brother was obviously intelligent and argumentative, Eponine was more reserved and poised, except that it was the kind of poise that seemed almost forced. Eponine was clearly observant, she smiled at the simple (if uninspiring) jokes. Laughed at correct pauses in the conversation, and seemed skilled in casual flirtation. That said, she was ever so careful to not voice her own opinion; it was often “so and so said” or “what do I know” rather than simple, honest statements. He had had several enchanting conversations with Eponine last night and only afterward realised that he had learned absolutely nothing about her and her brother. That alone rang a warning bell, but Combeferre operated on the benefit of the doubt on principle and he was willing to wait and see what the siblings’ intentions were before he moved to do anything about them. Enjolras’ attention was all too focused on Grantaire in any case. Combeferre could hardly dissuade him without action evidence of nefarious intent (if there was even any).

“I believe in freewill, Ms. Grantaire, and if your brother has chosen to believe in nihilism and the monarchy, well, those are his choices, incorrect as they are,” Combeferre said with a smile.

“Isn’t it one your American divine rights to educate the unenlightened?” Eponine countered. She was becoming more and more intrigued by the secretary by the second. A man who didn’t feel the need to force his conviction on others was a rare occurrence in her life.

“Well, I believe you would get a different answer if you posed the same question to Enjolras.” Combeferre’s eyes crinkled as he replied. “I, myself, do not believe in the absolute and I will support anyone’s right to any outlandish theories, as long as there is no concrete evidence against it, your brother’s included.”

Eponine had to laugh at that. Combeferre didn’t know Grantaire. Therefore, he had no frame of reference regarding the extent Grantaire would go to humiliate himself. She vividly remembered his card game in which he had become so determined to give back the money he earned when he realised that his good-natured opponent was actually penniless. That night, Grantaire had resorted to making himself a naked distraction in the name of strip poker in order to slip money back into the dimwitted aristocrat’s wallet unnoticed. 

“That seems like a good principle to live by, sir.” Eponine gifted him one of her (rare) sincere compliments before continuing. “What is your divine right then?”

“A right to the freedom to make my own choice, I believe.” 

Well, wasn’t that a lovely little thought, Eponine mused. Choices were luxury, as rare as diadems and titles only afforded to those who timed their birth correctly. Combeferre was no different from his friend and employee then. Eponine and Grantaire would do well to remember this fact.

“I do wish we lived in your world Mr. Combeferre,” Eponine settled, sincerely. “If only we could have that chance.” 

He looked at her thoughtfully and asked if she would like to pass the time by hearing about how his parents met. People in Eponine’s circle were abnormally proud of their breeding and she gritted her teeth to prepare for another tale of wealth and privilege.

“My father grew up on a sugar plantation on an island so small everyone was his cousin.” Combeferre gave a small smile as he began. “He loved the land, but he hated the limits. There was nothing but water and trees, by the time he was ten he read every single book he could find. His parents were the luckier ones, mind you. They had their own smallholding, not much, but they were no slave. One can make a good life on that island and never have to answer to any lords or ladies.”

“But he left?”

“But, he left,” he confirmed. “At first it was torturous to him. It was an equivalent of saying that what they had wasn’t good enough, but it wasn’t like that. You can have a perfectly happy home and still want more. Everyone is allowed to want something, I believe.” Eponine nodded, genuinely interested now, so Combeferre continued, “He started out in New York, doing odd jobs, as one does. He was a kitchen boy, and cleaner, a waiter, and even an undertaker for a while. He picked all the night shifts so he could go to school during the day. He said he didn’t have a day off for four years straight and I believe him.” He chuckled with an obvious fondness. 

“The school was where he met Enjolras’ father, they hit it off.”

“So...Mr. Enjolras is your mother?”

“Ha. Very good, Ms. Grantaire, I am quite flattered you were listening.”

“Eponine, please. My brother tainted our last name too much for me not to wince when someone called me that. And sir, you are the only source of entertainment for me on this journey, no offense to the stray cows around here.”

“I don’t think Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire would like that comparison.”

Eponine nearly choked. Combeferre just called his own employer (or friend) and her (pretend) brother whom he just met a cow. Most people would need a lot more adjustment period before they can even make Grantiare out. This journey was not too tedious after all. 

With the assurance of her attention, Combeferre launched into a story of how his father met his mother, a second-generation debutante with a baron for a grandfather, through his first post as a secretary, while still at the university. Her father thought he was a promising young man and showed him the ropes in the new world. The two young people predictably fell in love. She was headstrong, too intelligent for a woman at the time, but more than anything, she wanted so much more than her seemingly perfect life.

They bonded over the shared want, so strong their hearts ached for it. They dreamt about adventures and faraway lands. Her father found out about the budding romance and forbade his daughter from marrying a penniless immigrant, scholar or not. She would not be deterred and he cut her off for good when she disobeyed. The couple embarked on their first adventures together to Boston, where his mother learned to wash her own clothes for the first time, then took up a position as a washing woman. She was promoted to governess when the family found out that she could read and write. Boston reunited Combeferre’s father with Enjolras the elder and the rest, as they said, was history.

“What? No. That did not happen,” Eponine blurted out before she could stop herself.

Combeferre looked slightly disappointed before he gave a small, resigned nod. “This must be very different from your world. London is rather preoccupied with maintaining the status quo, in my opinion. I had hoped people would be more open to changes. There is more to life than dresses and maids in my mother’s eyes,” he continued, not unkindly. “Of course I understand that we are from a very different world, but I hope my story didn’t put you off too much.”

***  
Eponine was pacing in her room and Grantaire looked bewildered. She certainly never paced. She made up her mind and got on with her life no matter what life threw at her. However, this evening, she couldn’t stop pacing. 

“All right, ‘Ponine, that is enough. You’ll wear a hole on their floorboard,” Grantaire chided.

“He thought I was appalled by his parents! She left everything for his father and he thought I was disgusted with people who abandon their privilege. I have to fix this.” Eponine was dangerously close to whining, which was also a foreign territory to her.

Grantaire fixed her with a thoughtful look. “I thought we don’t care for the secretary? Aren’t you supposed to be seducing Enjolras.”

“Well, if you stopped arguing with him for a second I might have a chance?” She snapped and Grantaire visibly recoiled. It was a low blow and Eponine rushed to cover it. “I just meant that Enjolras would not marry anyone without his companion’s approval. Anyone can tell they are thick as thieves.”

“Hey I thought that title was for us only,” Grantaire protested with a smile before continuing. “We are having dinner with them soon anyway. I’ll make sure you sit next to him and you can explain to your heart’s content.

“You know, R, on some days I rather wish we had nothing to hide.”

“Me too, love. Me too.”

Eponine wished she had imagined the pain flashed on Grantaire’s face.

***  
Eponine has many virtues, but patience was not one of them. Before dinner, she found Combeferre alone by the refreshment table and cornered him.

“I believe you misunderstood me earlier, Mr. Combeferre,” she said to a slightly confused Combeferre. “My disbelief regarding your parents was not born of aristocratic pride, but from ignorance. Here, people are careful not to be cast out. It means the end of everything they know.” She paused before deciding on the truth. “I admire your mother greatly and I hope to be as brave as her if and when the time comes.”

The smile that broke out on Combeferre’s face must have been a sight. He was more upset than he realised when he thought Eponine was more invested in status than happiness. She was obviously bothered by the misunderstanding enough to seek him out, but why that made his heart flutter he would never understand.

The sun was just setting behind the window of the ornate dining room, casting golden hues on Eponine’s profile. Yorkshire’s sunset was different from the one in London, where the fumes and smoke were so thick light grey simply turned into dark grey to signify the end of the day. Here in the north, away from the crowd, everything seemed softer but more defined somehow. Perhaps Combeferre didn’t quite know how long he had been holding his breath, living in New York and London, always pushing for change and improvement, chasing after one goal or another. He wondered absently if he should start spending more time in the countries.

Combeferre was nothing if not analytical. He was not fond of confusion and preferred to tackle any problems heads on. He understood that this unfamiliar warmth, where it came from, seemed to need more time and fragments to make a whole picture. Eponine and Yorkshire sky were still alluring unknowns and he was content to see where they fit together.

They moved to the dining table after that and were soon joined by the rest of the group. The room was bathed in warm lights and gentle laughter. Courfeyrac, as always, was the main instigator. He was teasing Marius and Cosette about their whirlwind courtship and he felt Eponine tensing beside him. He was about to ask if she was alright when Grantaire loudly cleared his throat.

“Now, who wants to see if I can toss this potato right into Courfeyrac’s mouth from across the room?”

The whole table erupted in a cheer, even Enjolras hid a smile. Eponine relaxed beside him and Combeferre put the changes away as another piece of the current puzzle he intended to solve.

***  
Eponine’s days were considerably less busy than everyone else’s except Cosette. As the only two ladies in the group, they were forced to spend more time together than Eponine thought she would prefer. Despite her initial misgivings, Cosette was surprisingly delightful. She was perceptive and cheerful without being overbearing. She made snide observations about the men around them and didn’t force Eponine out of her shell against her will. They were taking a walk in her father’s expansive rose garden when Cosette piped up with an air of someone with a hidden agenda,

“What do you think of the Americans? They are such intriguing characters. Courfeyrac talked so much of them I felt like I knew them too.”

Eponine looked at her skeptically. Cosette did not care for idle gossips, this much she knew about the girl.

“Well, Mr. Enjolras is certainly something. He is very set on disrupting our ways of life, isn’t he?" Eponine gave Cosette a dreamy look for emphasis, if Cosette was going to play matchmaker, Eponine would use it to her advantage. “I wonder if he is engaged to anyone. All the society matrons will be falling all over themselves inviting him to dinner parties as soon as we get back to London.”

Cosette went on as if Eponine didn’t say anything of consequence. “I was just so intrigued by Mr. Combeferre. He worked his way up from a clerk position and now had nearly as many shares in their ventures as Mr. Enjolras! Did you know that my Papa started out with nothing too? When he adopted me he had three factories, but before that, he sometimes had to go without food for days,” she trailed off, lost in her thoughts, hands busy clipping the dried leaves around the blooming roses. “I can’t begrudge Mr. Enjolras and Marius for their inherited wealth, especially since they are trying so hard to do something good with it, but there is something to be said for men who've been through trials and came out even stronger.” She paused with another faraway look in her eyes. “The sharpest of blades are forged in the fire after all.”

It was Eponine’s turn for silence. Cosette’s time with her parents in the orphanage was short but deeply unpleasant. Eponine herself was too occupied with trying to survive to give it much thought, but knife wounds, however minor, left scars. After she left, Cosette grew up with all the comfort money could offer, but perhaps memories were not easily erased. She knew Cosette was not simply talking about Combeferre, for they, too, came out stronger and sharper. Eponine found unexpected peace in knowing that her secrets would be safe with Cosette and perhaps she and Grantaire can have more than each other too. 

She reached out and squeezed the other girl’s hand lightly; Cosette smiled and tucked her back to the house.

“Come, now. We have a ball to prepare for.”

“A country’s ball, Cosette, do we not just wear whatever we packed?” Eponine asked with a laugh.

“Eponine!” Cosette feigned a wounded look. “How could you? These good people have been so lovely to us. We have to honour them with our very best gowns.”

“I, for one, did not pack my very best gowns for a factory visit in West Yorkshire.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky we have the same figure then?” Cosette said with a sly grin.

***  
Cosette’s definition of “same figure” neglected the fact that she herself was as petite as a doll. They might be of similar height, but Cosette has an almost child-like physique while Eponine was more...endowed. She has perkier busts and wider hips, so she filled every inch of Cosette’s gown. One of which was currently drowning Eponine with perhaps fifteen layers of tulles and twelve layers of silk chiffons. Grantaire was somehow invited as a judging committee and was unsuccessfully trying to contain his laughter.

“If we lace your corset a little bit tighter we can definitely put you in the pink dress.”

“I would like to breathe at some point during the night, so, no.”

“What do you mean? Are you not delighted in looking like a banquet table’s drapery?” Grantaire contributed, abandoning his pretense of decorum in front of Cosette.

Eponine huffed a reply regarding where Grantaire could shove his drapery and looked at Cosette imploringly.

“This is a lovely dress, but it doesn’t suit me. I have neither the temperament nor figure for it. Perhaps I could wear one of my own dresses?” 

Cosette would not be denied a chance of dressing Eponine up. She brought out a bright orange gown with so many ruffles on top that made Eponine look like an orange orchard, but in a good way (Grantaire’s words). She then brought five more gowns, each one bigger than the last. 

Grantaire declared Eponine in the yellow dress a murderous sunflower.

Eponine threatened Cosette with bodily harm when she put her in the dreaded pink frock.

The chartreuse, ivory, and periwinkle ones were not even worth mentioning.

Eponine was ready to tear her hair out, but Cosette’s big dole eyes stopped her from storming off; She truly needed to examine that inhabitant at another time. As she prepared herself to disappoint Cosette and put her foot down once and for all, a maid brought out a dark blue gown with a ruching bodice that went all the way to the waist. It was made of rich velvet and must have cost more than Eponine and Grantaire’s monthly rent. As she took the dress behind the screen to try on, she saw Cosette winked at Grantaire from a corner of her eye. 

She came out from behind the screen and her audience let out a gasp.

“Oh Eponine.” Cosette clasped her hands together and signed dreamily.

“I believe every man in the room shall swoon,” Grantaire added. “Cosette, do we have enough fainting couches? We need five more however many you have.” 

Eponine gave them the most withering look she could muster and turned to face the floor-length looking glass.

She hardly recognised herself. She looked sinful. As a society imposter, her clothing allowance had always been modest. She had to blend in, not stand out. Her outfits were always appropriate and fashionable, but never alluring. This gown, on the other hand, was cut in the most flattering silhouette. The velvet hugged her close like a second skin and the neckline scooped down to (tastefully- Grantaire assured) show off her cleavage, which was more prominent than ever since her corset was laced as tight as Eponine would allow. The contrast felt even sharper since she was drowning in pastel silk and taffeta for the last hour.

“Oh,” Eponine breathed out.

“Oh indeed.” Grantaire smiled, looking proud and happy. In truth, he seemed proud and happy ever since he arrived from the mill that afternoon. Eponine didn’t have a moment to ask him what happened, but she was certain she would find out later tonight. 

Before she could change her mind about the gown, Cosette called her lady’s maid, Musichetta, to help them pin their hair for the night.

Eponine was certain Cosette and Musichetta were some kinds of sorceresses. First of all, Cosette’s gown fit Eponine like a glove and Musichetta was carrying enough rouge and powder to dress a whole traveling troupe.

“One can never be too prepared, ma’am.” was all she said.

At one point Joly came to fetch Grantaire for his own change of clothes and stood at the door staring at the sight of Musichetta bending over to paint Cosette’s cheek for a full minute before he started sputtering so incoherently Grantaire took pity on him and just got up and left on his own accord. 

Then it was the hair.

Eponine usually did her own hair. She hated being fussed over and she liked saving a little bit of money by maintaining her own appearance herself. Musichette, however, was another league altogether. She spent less than ten minutes on Eponine and Cosette and by the end, Cosett’s hair was angelically pinned away in a soft updo, while Eponine had a half-up crown braid with the rest of her hair cascading to one side. It was the most beautiful she had ever felt and she wondered absently if she should have tried her hand at acting like Musichetta did just to have the skills to feel this pretty every day. Musichetta even weaved little pearls into her hair, which contracted exquisite with her chestnut brown strands.

Cosette decided to go with the powder pink gown that flattered her colouring and made her look like a blushing rose. Grantaire came to escort them from their rooms and made a quip about being the most envious man in the crowd tonight. They were fashionably late and when the door was thrown open and the footman announced their arrival, all eyes were on them.

Marius was at the front and Eponine could feel rather than see him wheeze when he saw Cosette. She waited for the all too familiar wave of bitterness to come, but it never did. Her longing for Marius was replaced with contentment that came with getting to know Cosette and a changing pattern in her days that came with the arrival of the Americans.

One of whom was also gaping.

Combeferre was not easily flustered. He was composed, always a steady rock in a turbulent sea that was Enjolras. His experience did not prepare for his subject of interest to look so divine. 

Eponine was a sharp contrast to Cosette. All edges and no softness with curves and a face that demanded attention. If Cosette was a warm summer sun, Eponine was a midnight winter moon that invited rule-breaking. He looked around the room to see the reaction of other men, but it was too hard to tell if the silence was a result of Cosette’ ethereal beauty or Eponine’s enchanting smile. Enjolras alone seemed immune to the ladies, as his attention, as it had been of late, seemed fixated on the dark-haired man in the green waistcoat standing between Eponine and Cosette. The mark in question bowed elegantly and took off to the side so that Marius could bubble his praise to Cosette and the bachelors in the room could swamp Eponine.

That would not do. Would not do at all.

Combeferre’s feet carry him to the center of everyone’s attention without his mind quite meaning to do so. He offered a bow to Eponine.

“May I have the first dance, ma’am?”

Eponine laughed, pleased, and replied “Do you even know the country’s dance, Mr. Combeferre?”

“I am a quick learner, with the right teacher, of course.”

“How would one find the right teacher then? My brother is quite quick on his feet, perhaps we should ask him.”

“I was hoping you would take pity on a poor, far away from home man.”

“Well, if pity’s involved then. I am nothing if not magnanimous,” Eponine replied with a smile so bright her eyes crinkled. Eponine did not have visible laughter lines that spoke of joy and Combeferre felt an irrational urge to put them on her face. He led her onto the dance floor and prepared for the humiliation. 

Humiliation, however, was an understatement.

Combeferre was a barely acceptable dancer on a good day and he did not know any country dance prior to getting on a ship to England. He did not think he would need to impress a lady with it, which was a tremendous miscalculation on his part.

Eponine didn’t seem to mind, blessedly. She guided him to the brightly lit side of the room just behind the dance floor, made him look at the line of people dancing then started copying them. Combeferre thought that he might have done a little bit better if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with watching Eponine move like a siren in the night. Lights danced in her eyes and her pearl of laughter echoed in the room.

Making a fool of himself was underrated. He should have been doing it more often.

Finally, Eponine deemed him fit for the audience and let him enter the main dancing circle. There were missteps and apologies, to both his delightful partner and their neighbours, but most people accepted them graciously. All were enjoying themselves and Combeferre had never been more content than the moment he spun Eponine around correctly and she smiled at him with approval and pride.

People were right, the country air was good for one’s health.

***

The way back to London was decidedly more pleasant than the way to West Yorkshire. Enjolras and Grantaire had more of a discussion than a disagreement. Even Eponine chimed in with an idea or two about women worker’s health in their factory. When they stopped to change horses halfway through the journey, Enjolras and Grantaire wandered off to stretch without even a backward glance in their companions. 

Combeferre let out an amused huff, for which Eponine was looking at him quizzically. 

“I have never seen Enjolras so fascinated with anyone. Your brother is quite a character.”

Eponine let out what could be generously described as not quite a snort and replied: “Perhaps your friend needed to surround himself with people who disagree with him more often. My brother’s novelty might soon wear off.”

“I genuinely do not think that is the case.” Combeferre paused to think back on their interactions in the past week. “I find your brother observant, kindhearted, and remarkably intelligent. You two seem to have all those in common.”

These days, Eponine’s life seemed filled to the brim with nice people hell-bent on making her happy. First, it was Marius, Cosette soon followed, now Combeferre was singing her praises. She needed to stop being surprised by kind words and blushing at gentle touches. All this smiling, in fact, was doing irreparable damage to her reputation. 

“Please refrain from telling my brother any of those. He would surely start acting more difficult just to be contrary. He is brilliant and is deadly afraid of people knowing that.”

Combeferre smiled “It seems we need to lure him into thinking his secret is safe then?”

Eponine raised an eyebrow. Combeferre took that as an invitation to continue.

“Enjolras would not stop calling on your brother, I’d wager. It might be safer for them to consort with some sort of buffer? Perhaps I ought to accompany him to your lodging whenever the spirit moves him to crave a discussion with Grantaire”- Combeferre looked around, attempting an air of nonchalance but missing it by a country mile- “but it would be too unequal with the two of us against Grantaire, would you do us an honour of your company when we call on your brother?”

Eponine had to smile at that, reputation be damned. Turned out, Combeferre could be quite _smooth_ when he wanted to.

***  
It started with a walk in the neighbourhood.

Followed by a picnic by the Serpentine.

And a trip to the Victoria and Albert Museum, where Grantaire sat and drew for hours while Enjolras pretended not to stare at him. Eponine was treated to a lecture on Egyptian arts by Combeferre and to her surprise, she did not mind it one bit.

Two days later the Americans showed up in their drawing room with some pretense of wanting to see Kew Gardens. Eponine struggled to maintain her composure at their proposal. It was objectively absurd for Enjolras to claim an inclination to see a park and take a nature stroll since they spent the last weekend among the wilderness of West Yorkshire and the man had shown absolutely zero interest in his surroundings, nature or otherwise. To add insult to injury, Enjolras did not stroll, he strode. This habit meant that Grantaire, who was a good head shorter than Enjolras, was now speed walking beside him, chattering nonstop. This left Eponine and Combeferre with the actual strolling and looking at the garden part.

And it was a lovely part. Gorgeous lawns and meticulously maintained flower beds stretched out in all directions. A riot of colors from exotic flowers, birds, and dragonflies dotted the view. In the gentle morning light, they could forget how close they were to London proper and pretended they were in an enchanted land, where possibilities were endless. Eponine was content to breathe in the air and gently teased Combeferre.

“Well, Enjolras and Grantaire are certainly appreciating the flora and fauna.” 

Combeferre gave a soft chuckle, but asked his own question in lieu of a reply, “Would you mind stepping out with me for a moment?”

“Why, Mr. Combeferre! I did not take you for a man with nefarious intent when asking a lady for a walk.” 

Combeferre started sputtering out apologies explaining that he merely wanted to show her something and they couldn’t try to keep up with Enjolras and Grantaire who were now little more than small dots in the distance.

Eponine laughed and took Combeferre’s arm, allowing him to lead her to wherever his mysterious destination was. He led her gently into a simple conservatory without an ornate glass dome in contrast to the main glasshouse. Eponine wondered if Combeferre harboured a secret talent as a gardener when he led her into the warm hall and bid her to stay still and quiet.

A few breaths were drawn and she was about to ask him if he brought her there to meditate when she saw them.

Butterflies. A hundred of them fluttering in and out of every corner. They were darting around the blooming flowers with vibrant colours of the far-flung lands with warmer climates. They were not just the black and orange ones that frequented her garden, these butterflies came in every spectrum of the rainbow. Bright blue, purple, yellow, and even some indescribable iridescent ones. Eponine looked around in awe. She let out a soft appreciating sound and Combeferre beamed.

“If you stay very still, they do come quite close,” he whispered to her ear, sending involuntary shivers down her spine. “Be patient, they need to know that they can trust you.” He produced a small vial out of nowhere and dapped some liquid on her palm. “Sugar water,” he said. The butterflies were not above bribery afterall.

Eponine held herself stock still, palm outstretched, when a pink and black butterfly came and perched on her hand, sampling the sugar water happily.

“I don’t think I have ever been in a place or a time so lovely, Mr. Combeferre.” The simple joy of it overwhelmed her. Eponine had to hold back tears pricking her eyes as she once again mourned the life she never got to have, what it would be like to grow up learning about flowers and butterflies instead of knives and swindles. Combeferre, oblivious to her inner turmoil, looked immensely pleased and explained,

“Butterflies are a hobby of mine, I grew up in a city and had very few opportunities to see nature. My father always told me about being surrounded by them in his childhood and I supposed a childish hobby sometimes follows you into adulthood. We haven’t got a proper conservatory like these in New York. I couldn’t resist.” 

“You do not have a wall full of pinned insects do you?” 

“No! I would never. I admire them for their resilience and beauty. I would never wish to cage anything so precious. I only have drawings of them,” he answered with a slight blush. “I wanted to show you something I like, and I hope we can share many more moments like this.”

She smiled up at him. His warm brown eyes meet her hazel ones and they edged closer and closer. A moment so calm and fragile both of them were so afraid of breaking it.

His breath ghosted her hair as he leaned closer.

His lashes were long, she can count them now.

And then he whispered, “May I?”

She gave the smallest nod and their lips met.

It was warm. It was a blooming flower. It was as sweet as honey and as tantalizing as spice. As heady as the strongest madeira, and as soft as the first taste of a strawberry in May.

It was everything a kiss could be and Eponine edged closer, eager for more. She rested a hand on his chest and got on her tiptoe to deepen it. Combeferre made a pleased noise in his throat and tightened his hold on her waist. Eponine parted her lips slightly, granting him further access and he took it, using his tongue to explore her more and more.

The chattering sound from other visitors broke them out of their reverie.

Oh.

Oh no.

Eponine needed to put a stop to this. It was all well and good to flirt and dance and laugh, but she couldn’t let this go on. No good can come out of any deception, this she was certain. Grantaire had no part in her terrible seduction plan and he was as good as in love with Enjolras already. But Eponine was stronger. If Enjolras was a lost cause, she would not deceive Combeferre. He was too decent, too open, too kind. There was no hope of ever leaving him if she let herself love him. Eponine’s independence was hard-won and she intended to hold on to it for the rest of her life.

“Mr. Combeferre, thank you ever so much for bringing me here. But I fear I must make myself clear.” She smiled at him gently. “I have no wish to marry and I have never permitted anyone to court me.” A pause. An exhale. “I believe we are here for Enjolras and my brother, perhaps we should rejoin them?”

Combeferre was taken aback for a split second, but his composure won out and he nodded in understanding and grace. “Of course, I believe we would catch them up quickly if we take a shortcut through the lawn here.”

It was better this way, Eponine told herself. No one got hurt this way. She would return to her plotting and Combeferre could return to whatever he did before he met her, butterflies and Egyptian arts and whatnot.

Too bad it felt like she was letting something important go anyway.

***  
Combeferre should have stopped accompanying Enjolras to his endless visits to the Grantaires’ townhouse. It was always some inane excuse or another. One day Enjolras wished to hear Grantaire’s opinion on the dockworkers’ strike, another it was simply to ask them where to find the best pie in London, which somehow necessitated Grantaire dragging them across the city to his favourite pie shop right on the edge of the town, where orderly society met anarchy. 

Combeferre had been trying to control his feelings and keeping his interactions with Eponine polite and impersonal. No more butterfly gardens and country dances. That said, Enjolras and Grantaire had not made the effort easy. Enjolras insisted that they needed Grantaire’s opinion to improve their business plan and stubbornly refused to visit Grantaire on his own, instead he sat around their house looking irritated and snapping at everyone and everything when Combeferre refused to accompany him for a visit. When there, Enjolras and Grantaire would proceed to ignore the existence of an entire world just so they could share secret smiles and accidental touches.

It was all terribly inconvenient.

Eventually the awkwardness grew too strong and either Combeferre or Eponine would just start commenting on the weather and the food. They would then venture to other topics and the next thing he knew, Combeferre would forget about Enjolras and Grantaire as well, lost in Eponine’s blunt speeches and a faint smell of verbena that seemed to follow her everywhere. 

He fully understood why Eponine wouldn’t want to be tied down. Living with her brother, she was allowed the freedom to roam as she pleased. A husband, however, came with certain expectations of obedience and anyone could see as clear as the day that Eponine was nothing if not her own person. She would take an order as well as a wild horse take an inexperienced rider.

Except he had no desire to tame her. He never wanted to pin a butterfly, he only wished to know them. To understand them and watch them soar. He longed for a chance to tell Eponine all these, but he respected her autonomy and he would not, could not burden her with his unwanted advances.

They were walking to a hackney, back from Grantaire’s favourite pie shop where Grantaire and Enjolras conveniently disappeared to White’s, where Grantaire promised to let Enjolras verbally abuse a peer who believed women were simply ornaments to society and should never speak their minds in public. The air was thick with elderflower fragrant and Combeferre was fighting a very unattractive allergy when he felt a tuck in his left pocket. Years of living in New York prepared him for a quick reaction and he found a very small hand in his own.

“Hello, may I help you?” Combeferre asked. Next to him, he felt Eponine take a sharp intake of breath. Ladies must not have a lot of opportunities to see a street urchin in action after all. The little boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight years old, struggled to break free and Combeferre crouched down to his eye level and said calmly.

“I will not hurt you. I do not have a lot of coins in my pocket at the moment, but enough for a pie and perhaps a little more.” He smiled, tried to reassure the child. “We will go to dinner and you will tell me why you are out here all by yourself. Then you may have the rest of my purse. How does that sound?”

The child nodded frantically, even with something like fear in his eyes.

“Now, I will let go, please promise me not to run away? My lady here can take your hand, if you want, but we are just getting dinner and perhaps even a pudding if you stay. Can you do that for me?”

Another firm nod, so Combeferre let go. The urchin immediately glued himself to Eponine, who held his hand firmly and walked back to the pie shop with Combeferre. When they were feeding on another serving of a sticky toffee pudding, Combeferre confirmed that the child had no parents to speak of and wrote down an address for an orphanage near the West India Docks and told him to visit the building or let Combeferre take him. Eponine excused herself to speak to a nearby innkeeper about a bed for the night and he continued to try to find out more about his potential pickpocket's life.

Eponine knew Gavroche would be nearby. She knew the child, Roger, from a few visits that Gavroche made to her and Grantaire. She stepped out to the back alley and waited for him.

“Gav, you little git. What the hell was that? I told you to come to me if you need anything.” She fought the urge to shake him. “Why would Roger pull shit like that anyway? He wasn’t even good at it! I thought you had him lift sweets and nothing else.”

Gavroche, ever the paragon of calm, let out an exasperated sigh before replying, “Would you like to marry a man who mistreats children? Only one way to find out.”

“I’m not marrying him! How do you even know these things? You know what, I do not care. I promise you I will build us a better life and I will do it one way or another,” she huffed. “I will do it on my own.”

“He seemed decent,” Gavroche replied. “Perhaps you don’t need to.” He threw her a wink before slinking off into the night.

She went back to Combeferre and Roger afterward. Eponine was still pondering Gavroche’s form of approval when she realised they made it back to her front door. Before she got back into her house, she turned back to Combeferre and told him.

“You know, Mr. Combeferre, people who refuse to tie down even a butterfly, would make a quite an interesting husband in this world where wives are properties, don’t you think?”

***  
Eponine allowed herself a measure of freedom after that. Strangely enough, her interactions with Combeferre hardly changed. They still sat apart at a polite distance, she took his arm when they walked and he kissed her gloved hand when they parted. They still teased Grantaire and Enjolras mercilessly (it no longer mattered, those two just blushed and let them anyway). There was no need of keeping up the pretense of accompanying their loved ones when Enjolras all but tucked Grantaire into his arms every time they were alone. Once, Eponine even had to throw a scone at Grantaire’s head to get his attention.

Only noticeable differences were the looks and the kisses.

The looks were going to ruin Eponine.

Combeferre always looked at her like she was a wonder. He smiled when she entered the room and looked at her intensely when he promised he would call on her the next day. He lit up when she laughed and frowned thoughtfully when she gave him something to ponder. He had been relentlessly honest about his past and he was concerned about her reputation when the subject of their courtship arose. He told her his mixed heritage was sometimes used against him and Eponine wished he could know how little it mattered to her. 

Soon, Eponine thought. She would tell him everything soon. She would do it before he had a chance to propose, for she knew it was coming. She’d already let herself love him, but she would not let herself start a married life with a lie.

The kisses robbed her out of her rational mind altogether.

They traded kisses under the moonlight, in carriage rides, and everywhere in between. 

Combeferre was propriety personified and she once thought he would kiss like a timid English man, but she was wrong, entirely wrong.

Combeferre kissed her like she was a particularly intriguing labyrinth he intended to explore. Every little gasp and sigh was cataloged for future advantages. Every carcass of his long, elegant hands drove her wild. She knew they were tethering closer to the point of no return each time they touched. Affection mixed with attraction was an addictive combination and Eponine was for once, content to let feelings overwhelm her.

They were back in West Yorkshire, preparing for another ball. This one was to celebrate the partnership between Enjolras and Marius, who would be taking over cotton mills from Cosette’s father, Madeleine. The announcement went swimmingly, thanks to ironclad contracts drafted by Combeferre, detailing all the benefits and rights of their factory workers. Eponine congratulated him when he came to her door while she and Cosette were getting ready. Cosette shooed them out with a wink and Combeferre spinned her around in the hallway before asking if she would permit him a few moments in privacy.

Eponine led him to an alcove overlooking the back lawn when he began speaking.

“I am very relieved the announcement went well with the locals.” 

“Of course it did. We know how much work was put into this venture. Now you will get to see the results. The people were so pleased. So Hopeful.” Eponine placed her hands on his chest and rested her head on top of them, the way she knew Combeferre liked. “I am pleased and hopeful too.” 

“Well, I might have an ulterior motive in ensuring the success of this business,” Combeferre said, nuzzling her hair and making all coherent thoughts fly out of the window.

“Yes? Pray tell?” Eponine retaliated with little kisses placed on his chin. Two could play this game after all.

“Hmm, perhaps I was looking for an excuse to stay...forever?” He smiled and cupped her neck in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheek before placing a firm kiss on her lips.

Eponine yielded immediately. Today, Combeferre kissed her like he had all the time in the world to take her apart piece by piece.

And take her apart he did.

He nibbled her left ear and Eponine forgot they were in a hallway.

“Would you…”

He placed a bruising kiss on her collar bone and Eponine forgot she should keep quiet.

“Do me the honour…”

He rubbed his thumbs on her bodice and caressed the swell of her breast in his palms and Eponine forgot her name.

“Of becoming my wife?”

Eponine gasped and broke off. Oh, this was diabolical. Combeferre knew how much she loved his fingers and lips and it was quite unfair to expect anything resembling rationality when he did that thing with his hands and she told him so.

“You are a man of trickery, Mr. Combeferre.” She took a step back and pretended to huff. “Now, go stand over there, yes, there, three more steps to the back. Correct.” She fought to keep her smile in, Combeferre looked to be on the same stage and made a half-hearted attempt at looking solemn. 

“Now, ask me again.”

Combeferre started laughing in earnest then. He seemed rather too happy for a man whose outcome of a proposal was yet to be determined. He kneeled down on one knee, produced an emerald ring from his breast pocket, and asked,

“Eponine, I have found unfathomable contentment and happiness in your company. You are stunning and strong and adventurous beyond my wildest dream. I know I do not deserve you, but if you give me this chance, I will spend every hour of my life filling your days with wonders. Will you marry me?”

Eponine nodded, speechless for once. 

***  
They were on their way to share the news with Enjolras and Grantaire when Cosette ran towards them frantically. 

“Eponine! It’s Grantaire, he was attacked and now papa and father are with him!”

Eponine took off running before she could think better of it. Grantaire may not be her blood, but he was her closest family in all but that. She fought a panic down her stomach and asked Cosette on their way.

"Is he alright? Is he badly injured? Did anyone send for a doctor?”

Combeferre was running alongside them and he took her hand, squeezing gently. “I was trained as a doctor. I can help.”

Eponine could breathe a little easier. Combeferre truly was a miracle of miracles. Cosette reassured them that Grantaire was walking on his own when she saw them take him in, so he couldn’t have been hurt too badly. With his health no longer in perilous danger, Eponine’s mind whirled back to the second most important question.

“Do you know who attacked him?”

Montparnasse, it was Montparnasse. 

She knew their past would catch up with them, but she didn’t quite expect Montparnasse to materialise. He helped them escape her father, even with an extortionate fee. He was her childhood sweetheart. Deep down, she knew Montparnasse could be cruel, but she never thought he would be cruel enough to turn on them.

By the time they arrived, Montparnasse was restrained. Questions were asked and the truths were out.

Eponine told Combeferre and Enjolras everything. There was no point pretending anymore. She told them how she and Grantaire were used in her father’s merry bands of hardened criminals. How many blows they have taken growing up and how they’d had to bribe Montparnasse just to escape. 

She told them how Grantaire was not actually her brother. She told them that she had two younger siblings depending on her and Grantaire. She told them how they had been getting by with petty theft and scams and how Marius once paid their rent when they couldn’t afford it without asking questions. She told them of her plan to swindle a fortune out of Enjolras after marrying him. She told them of their plan of opening a small orphanage far away from London and taking in children nobody wanted, children like her and Grantaire.

Finally, when her voice cracked and her eyes burned, she apologised. She assured them that the doomed seduction plan was hers alone and Grantaire’s feelings for Enjolras were deep and true. She said nothing of her own attachment for Combeferre. She loved him, but perhaps she did not have the privilege of telling him that anymore. 

When she finished, Combeferre stopped bandaging Grantaire and pronounced him a model patient.

He offered her his hand and she took it shakily. She would not beg. She had no regrets on her past besides deceiving Combeferre and Enjolras. She did what she had to do to save herself and those she loved and she would have done it again a thousand times over. If it cost her this chance at happiness, she would wish Combeferre the very best and rejoice in his happiness, wherever that may lie.

Combeferre took her outside and both of them took a moment to calm their heartbeats. The mortal danger was over, Eponine told herself. It was just her heartbreak now and she would withstand it. Grantaire was safe. Her father was going to prison. Her siblings were going to be alright. Eponine would get through this, just as she did everything else.

“Before you say anything, please know that I only admire you more-” Combeferre said firmly.

Before Eponine could answer, Montparnasse was brought out with the constable, presumably to be placed in prison for life. He saw them and hatred flashed in his eyes.

“Look at the lovebirds. Did you know that she used to be my whore before she got all prim and ladylike?”

Eponine spin around faster than she’d ever had in her entire life and connected her fist squarely with Montparnasse’s already broken nose. It gave a satisfying crunch and she smiled sweetly.

“Language like that is not fit for polite society, Montparnasse.”

She turned around to face Combeferre, who looked like he had just seen a Christmas morning and his birthday rolled up into one.

“Now, Eponine, I insist you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me tomorrow.”

“What? Are you under some misguided sense of duty? No one would begrudge you for annulling the engagement. We haven't even told anyone yet.”

“You already said yes! You can’t take it back. And with a right hook like that, I am more assured than ever of our future happiness.” Combeferre shook his head, amused. “My feelings have not changed. I did not propose lightly, Eponine. My parents were as in love with each other as they were when they were nineteen. I would not marry someone I could live without.” 

He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes sternly. “I knew there were things about you that you kept hidden behind a wall. Now I know more, but Eponine, you must know, they were just your past. There are a million different things that made you this wonderful you. Your fierce loyalty, your irrational hatred of caramel. Your love of music. We can learn these things about one another for the rest of our lives.”

Combeferre paused to let his words sink in. “My convictions remain the same. My happiness is placed in your hands, and you can do with it what you wish.”

Eponine laughed and threw her arms around his shoulders, letting him lift her up once more. Perhaps happiness could really be that simple. Perhaps all any of us needed was a chance, a chance to try, to let ourselves love and be loved, to let the rain wash over the past and wounds that no longer serve a purpose. A chance to find strength, not in solitude but in mutual devotion.

A chance.

**Author's Note:**

> And here's the reference no one asked for:
> 
> \- Jellied eels are very real and very frightening. Click on [this](https://images.app.goo.gl/VFLBtdM4ddZeyyp97) at your own risk.  
> \- The Serpentine is a manmade lake in Hyde Park, London, and was created in 1730. It's a great date location for broke college students, 10/10 would recommend.  
> \- Kew Gardens opened in 1759, but I don't think the butterfly habitat was put in until 2017. shhhh.  
> \- Verbena is my favourite flower and it represents healing, creativity, and happiness, which fits Eponine's journey here perfectly. 
> 
> Please let me know if you like/want to yell at me about this story! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated. I am also highly suggestible, so if you want to see anything in this 'verse, tell meeee.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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